


Blazing

by OwlEspresso



Category: Monster Prom (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Jealousy, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-03 23:40:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17293511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OwlEspresso/pseuds/OwlEspresso
Summary: Adrenaline thrums softly in your veins and reminds you to enjoy the here and the now.





	Blazing

**Author's Note:**

> Also on my writing blog, which can be found [HERE](https://owlespresso.tumblr.com/).

While Damien goes nuts on the dance floor (hasn’t started any fires yet, fortunately), you hang back by the snack table and dig into one of the devil food cupcakes. The punch is probably spiked, so you stay away from it. No sense in getting wasted this early.

These parties usually aren’t your scene, anyways. You’d much rather curl up in bed with a nice book, rather than mingle with your drunk, loud peers. This place is rife with social interaction, and although you can turn on the charm when you feel like it, you also hate how stifled and crowded the place feels. House parties rank at the lowest tier of house parties. A vast majority of them take place in small, cramped areas, and the lack of rules or etiquette can cause chaos to break out more often than not.

And the tiny environment often forces you to have to mingle with other people. You feel your soul rush out of your body at the very idea of having to talk to more than four people in one sitting.

“Not gonna dance?” Polly’s melodic voice rings out, playful. It sounds like wind chimes. You turn to her, taking in her drunk-flushed visage and tipsy smile.

“Nah,” You offer in reply, “Dancing’s not my thing,” Polly’s expression dips into a pout and you know that if she looks at you like that for too long, she’ll inevitably charm you into dancing (and going along with any other harebrained schemes she comes up with). “Seriously. I got two left feet and the snack table is my natural habitat.”

“Aw, c’mon, you’re selling yourself short. I’m sure there are loads of lovely people, like me, who would love to dance with you.” She nudges you with her elbow, and you wonder how she manages it when she’s non-corporeal most of the time. Can she just turn that on and off? 

“I think I’m selling myself just right, actually.” You retort, earning an amused snort from her. “Really. I’m fine with just staying here.”

“Damien didn’t even stick around! Don’t tell me that hiding here is funner than dancing with your best pal Polly!” She bats her eyelashes at you and you steel yourself, staying rooted to the ground. Unshakeable. Unmoveable. You pride yourself on your resistance. No matter what tricks she tries to upll, she won’t be able to sway you—

Ten minutes later finds you playing poker with her lounging over your shoulder, urging you to bet all the money you have while you berate yourself for being so weak. She’d given up on asking you to dance, but managed to sway you into some reckless gambling.

It’s difficult to focus when she’s so close and so very corporeal. Her proximity makes it impossible to notice the envious stare glare being sent her way from across the room.

(Unbeknownst you you, she looks up and makes direct eye contact with Damien, giving him a wink, sly and taunting)

You gently nudge her with your elbow and she obliged, shifting further away as Scott, shirtless, storms in from the outside and grabs Damien, whisking him away for the wildest game of street-hockey-with-metal-bats he’s ever played.

Polly slides you a drink from her seat next to you and you grab it without a second thought. 

“Take everything he has.” She whispers in your ear and you can’t suppress the wide, carnal grin that spreads across your features. 

The captain of the football team is squirming and sweating nervously. He pales at the sight of your expression, as though he knows he’s already lost. He holds his cards ridiculously close to his face and you know you got him. He has the worst poker face you’ve ever seen, though you probably should have expected that from someone who’s floated through life relying only on his athletic capabilities.

You feel bad about taking his money for a second before you remember losing a bitter dodgeball match to him six months ago. This is just evening the score between you two, but you’ll have to go after him in a few weeks, again. You don’t play to get even. You play to win and you’re going to make him acknowledge that.

You emerge victorious and take his wallet, his clothes and his dignity. Never has revenge felt so sweet.

The crowd whoops and hollers after him as he flees with his tail literally between his legs. They shove drinks and cupcakes and tabs of ecstacy your way, and you bask in their attention.

You sit back against the couch, feeling like a warrior queen who has just conquered a neighboring kingdom and returned to an adoring public. Polly hands you another cocktail and you down it, allowing the liquid courage to settle in comfortably, next to the satisfaction of pure victory. The fruit taste sweeps your mouth (mangos, strawberries, sweet, sweet, sweet) and you suddenly feel rejuvenated. The thick air of the house smells like weed and booze, but the couch feels like a cloud as it shapes to your form. Adrenaline thrums softly in your veins and reminds you to enjoy the here and the now.

“Are you still not gonna dance?” Polly leans up against your shoulder, a wide grin stretched across her lips. You know that you’re buzzed halfway to hell, but god, she’s so cute—

Five minutes later has you completely immersed in the crowd of dangers. Polly had been with you initially, before a handsome, green-skinned zombie wandered over and swept her off her feet. You sway and twirl on your feet, hips rolling to the low, sultry rhythm. You’re not sure if you’re doing well or not, but the broad-shouldered, yellow-eyed werewolf across from you seems to like it. He’s handsome, with a sharp nose and long, black hair. 

The contact between you is wordless. You let each beat thrum through your body, the hazy intoxication of the alcohol and music guiding your movements. You come to forget about the handsome werewolf, despite his proximinity. The beat slows into something more sultry, deeper, deeper.

A loud howl of pain jolts you from your stupor. A blast of scorching warmth makes you realize that the werewolf’s tail has been lit aflame. The other dancers on the floor scramble backwards, some tumbling to the floor in their haste to get away. The smell of burning fur makes your nose scrunch up in disgust as your former dancing partner rolls on the floor, leaving you face-to-face with the culprit.

Damien has his hands buried in his pockets, a noticeable frown jutting on his face. Had he been jealous? Really?

“A little over dramatic, don’t you think?” You cross your arms and regard Damien with an unimpressed expression. There’s a new kind of darkness in his eyes, one you’ve never seen before. You’re caught between wanting to explore it and wanting to run from it, but instead you find yourself frozen, unable to do either.

His lips pull into a smirk and he gives a careless shrug.

“Nah.” Is all he says, and then his eyes widen, expression manic. There’s no time to react before he grabs your upper arm and begins tugging you away from the floor. The party picks up as soon as the fire is out. The sound of rampant chatter and clinking glasses remains in your wake.

The poor werewolf has already scrambled away, heading to the back door. You’ll have to try and apologize, later. But now, you have an entirely different person and problem to deal with.

You splutter at Damien, demanding an explanation, but let him drag you away from the main room and up a staircase to the house’s second floor. You stumble into the upstairs hall, floundering for a moment as your eyes adjust to the dark.

His lips are tight on yours, unrelenting, vicious in the way he holds you. His hands greedily run up and down your body, trying to be everywhere at once. One palms your breast and you give a small squeal, losing your footing. Your back slams into one of the walls and he separates from your lips, blazing a path of brutal kisses and bites down the expanse of your neck, littering your soft skin with marks. 

One of his legs slides in between your own and grinds in just the right place. Your hips roll shamelessly against him, feeling your underwear grind against your moistening pussy, making you dizzy. Your head lolls back and rests helplessly against the wall, giving balmy breaths through your bruised lips. 

“You’re so fucking cute,” He says, but there’s aggravation rooted deep in his voice, “People can’t keep their grubby hands off you, but that’s gonna change cause—” You cheekily nudge his bulge, apparent through his tight jeans, with your knee. He gives a long exhale and you can see that he’s smiling widely, wildly in the dark. “Cause you’re mine, now.”

You don’t get any time to retort before he’s grabbing you again, one of his hands winding around your waist and tugging you so hard that you immediately lose your footing, left helpless to follow. He opens a random door and tugs you inside, having fortunately found a bedroom on the first try. Common sense shrieks at the back of your mind that this isn’t your house, what if someone finds you here— But that’s all gone the moment he throws you onto the bed. It gives a violent shriek as you collide with it. He slams the door and follows, on top of you before you can even think to say something.

“Damien,” You murmur. He leans down to kiss and bite along your neck. You squeal, and he seems to like that, because he chuckles and nips harder at the same place. You instinctively squirm, hands reaching up to grab at his shoulders, still clad in his leather jacket. “Take it off.” Any semblance of power your voice might have had is utterly drained, instead coming out as a weak, low whine.

“Uh-huh.” He grumbles, but doesn’t do anything else. His hands reach for the buttons of your blouse, yanking the garment apart. Buttons fly away and you hear them clatter in different parts of the room, much to your chagrin. He doesn’t even apologize before he’s swooping down again to bite and mark your chest. His right hand comes to cup your breast while he supports himself with the other, body caging you in tight. For a moment, he’s surprisingly gentle. His cheek nestles into your soft skin and he sighs slowly. 

The tenderness catches you off guard. Then again, you suppose you haven’t seen everything about him, yet. The fact that he’s willing to show you this side of him makes affection swell deep within of you.

That fondness is immediately swept away when he gives another firm bite, causing you to cry out in surprise. He gives another, low chuckle. The noise provokes another jolt of aggravation in you and your hands reach up to push at his jacket. Getting your point, he rolls his eyes, but obliges, shrugging it off, and bringing his shirt over his head, throwing it carelessly across the room. 

“Get naked.” He doesn’t beat around the bush and begins to climb out of his trousers, fiddling with his belt. It eventually clatters to the floor with his pants, while you wriggle out of your (thankfully) elastic shorts and panties.

You don’t get the chance to take off your shirt and bra before he’s on you again, his lips affixing to your own with a low moan. His forked tongue slides inside of your mouth, tasting as much of you as he can reach. His hands, rough and unrelenting, come up to grope your breasts through your bra, prompting you to squeal and arch into him, your chest pressing up against his own.

He separates from you, giving you a sly grin, before sliding down the bed, towards your wet, naked cunt. His knees land on the carpeted floor and he comes face-to-face with your exposed folds.

A sudden bout of shyness makes you start to close them, but he tsks, arms reaching forward, curling around your legs and holding them in place.

“Don’t hide from me, doll.” He purrs. His tongue rasps a path straight up your slit, making your hips wriggle and your back arch. One of his fingers reaches over to tease around your entrance. Your lips fumble around little, shy noises as you feebly writhe in his grasp, eyes shutting in relief when one of his fingers slides inside of you. Finally, finally, finally—

Your hands fumble around the sheets and your fingers curl into the lavish cloth as he works you open, adding another finger within mere moments. The stretch burns, but he draws it out in a way that lets you adjust perfectly. 

His pace is sluggish, and by the time he manages to add a third finger, you’re whining, the sheets twisting around your body as you pathetically grasp for some form of relief.

“You’re so fucking cute, you know that?” He drawls. The low growl of his voice drives a shiver up your spine. “All desperate ‘n wiggling around on my fingers. Look at how wet you are for me.” His fingers slide out and aching emptiness makes you mewl in distress.

He moves back up, mattress dipping underneath his weight, and holds his sopping fingers in front of your face. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and tug him down, kissing him all over his face.

“Alright, alright.” He grumbles. The lighting is too dim for you to see his face well, but you know he’s probably blushing. The thought makes you grin, hazy and fond. Your fingers run over his shoulders, savoring in the warmth he radiates. Your palms press against his upper back, and he sighs, face dipping down to rest against your chest again. You’re thoroughly smitten and distracted until you feel his cock press against your folds, interrupting the tender moment.

“Hang on. Lemme help.” You murmur, reaching down to grab his dick and line it up with your entrance.

The insertion is slow, but the stretch is satisfying and worth it. His fingers curl into the sheets, an ungodly snarl painted across his face as he barely restrains himself from fucking you senselessly. His vivid, gold gaze darts down and pins you in place, his pupils dilated, his lips hung open around a low moan. Trembling, you feebly lift yourself up with your elbows and kiss him. 

His hips rock back and slam forward, the beginning of a rough pace that leaves your head spinning. Your lips part and choke around small whines and carnal groans. He greedily swallows every noise, content to keep every piece of you to himself. A need for air causes you to part, and he’s down to your neck in an instant, painting love bites over your chest and shoulders. The bed creaks under each pointed thrust, but even then, he’s not done. 

His warm hands reach under you and pry you upwards in a show of monstrous strength, forcing you to straddle him. The angle hits you deep and your eyes shut tight, lips curled around a pathetic, startled squeal. 

“C’mon, baby,” He coos, nibbling at your jawline. His hands grasp your hips tight, tugging up and down on his cock, leaving no room for you to control the pace. You may be on top, but he’s in charge and he makes sure you’re aware of it. “Cry for me. Let everyone outside know how much of a slut you are for my cock.” He punctuates his demand with a particularly hard thrust upwards. It knocks the breath out of you, leaving you just about limp in his grasp. The knowledge of your own powerlessness somehow arouses you even more.

But he doesn’t stop or slow down. He decorates your chest in swathes of red and purple, savors the way your walls squeeze his cock. With your last ounce of willpower, you move one of your hands down to massage at your clit. Any attempts to say his name come out as warbled, incomplete moans and soon it’s just little ah, ah, ahs as you feel yourself hurtling towards your orgasm. You didn’t realize how pent up you were—

His pace recceeds to a slow crawl and you cry out. Your entire body trembles as you’re torn down from your high, left to desperately grab at the ashes of what was once a smoldering flame. 

“Sorry, did you want something?” The corners of his lips curl into a devious smirk as he looks up at you. You’re torn between chewing him out and begging him to continue going.

“I—” You cut yourself off, hiccuping as he lightly bounces into you, letting you know just how much power he has. Your hands reach down at hold his shoulders and you calm your breathing, desperately grasping at any semblance of composure—but he drives up into you again and you realize that this is a losing battle. “Please!” You gasp, hands trembling. “Please, Damien, lemme cum!”

“Uh-huh,” He purrs, low and smug, like he knew this would be the outcome from the start. Before you can even get mad, his hips start to roll again, fucking you for everything you have. Your hand clumsily reaches for your clit, fingers moving in a circular motion. “Thatta girl.” His cock hits in all the right places, god, it’s fucking deep like this—

Your release was snatched from you only moments ago, but you can already feel yourself hurtling towards orgasm. Please, please don’t stop this time! Your hands claw at his shoulders, feeling the broadness of his muscles. It makes him moan nice and deep, a throaty noise which matches harmoniously with your howls of his name.

Your body, tight like a coil, snaps and unwinds all at once, hot juices spilling onto his cock. He fucks you through it, until you’re breathless, thighs twitching as he drives you far beyond what you can take. His pace becomes uneven and rocky, before he twitches, his cum filling you and leaking onto the sheets. You’ll probably have to pay a dry cleaning bill later, or something, but the thought drifts to the back of your mind as your body starts to loosen and relax. 

Your limbs feel boneless, and he thankfully doesn’t let you tumble to the floor. One of his hands rests against your sweat-slicked back as he turns, lowering you onto the bed. The blankets are soft and comforting against your heated skin. The room’s comfortable temperature doesn’t make you too cold, but it doesn’t overheat you, either.

He pulls out and you whine at the sudden chill, but find yourself comforted when he settles down next to you, an arm drawn across your lower stomach. Soft kisses press against your shoulder. He’s surprisingly sweet, when he wants to be. You turn to face him, trying to keep your eyes open.

“If you wanted my attention, all you had to do was ask.” You tell him, voice breathless. He grumbles under his breath and draws you closer.

“Would’ve been boring.” Is all he replies with. His bright eyes gleam in the dark when he peers at you. You crane your neck around to meet his gaze. Silence settles between you both as you bask in the afterglow. Apart of you wants to climb back into your clothes and head downstairs, but staying here, nestled in his arms, is also incredibly tempting. Maybe you should—

He leans forward and kisses you ravenously. His dick hardens against your thigh. A wry grin forms on your lips, content to let him have his way as many times as he wants.

\--

Fifteen minutes pass and Polly’s almost given up on searching for you. She calls your name and stomps around the party, grabbing random people an interrogating them on your whereabouts. Maybe she shouldn’t have abandoned you right after dragging you onto the dancefloor, but the vampire she’d gone with was too dreamy to pass up! How could she resist his translucent pale skin and sharp fangs? 

Of course, he’d lost all interesting after realizing she didn’t have any warm blood to offer him. Typical vampires. They suck!

With that anger still in mind, she grabs the arm of a cat-eared passerby and asks if they’d seen you. Her disgruntled expression intimidates them for a brief moment, before they manage to give a small nod.

“I think I saw her get dragged upstairs by Damien.”

Polly’s mouth hung wide open, blinking once, twice. She didn’t really know why she was so shocked. The two of you had fit together since day one, like two peas in a pod, like french fries and ice cream, like—like her and any number of dangerous, hallucination-inducing drugs! Her eyes gleamed in excitement as she made a beeline towards Liam, the closest person who she knew the best. 

His eyes widened as he realized he was in for another session of Polly talking his ear off about the latest trends or whatever, flippant gossip she had to offer—but it was too late. He was doomed to listen to her speculations about your sex life.


End file.
